


It is an Odd Name for a Dog

by brokenlibrarygirl



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Bathtubs, Dogs, Fluff and Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-24
Updated: 2015-01-24
Packaged: 2018-03-08 22:02:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3225083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brokenlibrarygirl/pseuds/brokenlibrarygirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock Holmes risks his life on a regular basis. John has stopped wondering why, until the day Sherlock pulls a dog out of a frozen lake.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It is an Odd Name for a Dog

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MargotKhan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MargotKhan/gifts).



> My first fic written specifically for someone else. I am really nervous about it. The prompt was (paraphrased) "Anything fluffy is always good. I’m a big fan of victorian bathtubs." Hope you like it.

“Exactly what the hell did you think you were doing?!” John shouts taking his coat off and putting it around a shivering Sherlock. He frantically starts unbuttoning Sherlock’s dripping shirt and grumbling.

“thhh dddog” Sherlock tries through chattering teeth. John’s mind is racing of how to get Sherlock warm before the ambulance arrives. He had frantically dialed 999 as he watched Sherlock make his way slowly on his stomach towards the reddish dog that had fallen through the ice. He knew it would end badly and was ticking through his medical skills to see how he was going to have his deathwish wanting boyfriend survive hypothermia.

The dog in question was shivering on its side at their feet. The bloody fucking dog.

“Forget the damn dog Sherlock” John admonishes pulling his sweater over his head leaving himself in only a shirt. Beneath his dripping curls he has the nerve to scowl at John as he unclasps his belt.

“Nnneether the tiiimme or placcce” Sherlock kicks them off nearly falling down.

“We have to get your core warm Sherlock before you go into shock. I’m going to pull this on over your legs and then you’re going to sit on my lap. If you make one more ill-advised quip, I will make you call and tell your mother.” John says getting them both situated on a snowless part of the grass.

John wraps his arms around Sherlock and tries his best not to panic as he wills the sound of sirens to sound closer. He couldn’t keep doing this to him, he can’t lose Sherlock again. He was still shaking but not as violent as he when John had hauled him and that blasted dog out of the pond. 

“Still with me?” 

Sherlock’s head only nods and his cold hands clasp John’s and finally the sirens are there. John sighs in relief.

“Vettt.” comes out quietly

“What now?”

“The dog. Take him to to. Vett. I’mmm fffiine” Sherlock says as the medics pull him off of John and blankets are thrown over shoulders. John blinks helplessly at Sherlock as he is on a stretcher and in the back before he can process the request or the questions being asked.

“Sir? Do you need medical assistance?” a medic asks tugging on a corner of the blanket.

“No, no. I have to take that to the vet?” John mutters pointing as one of the medics has kneeled next to the dog and has it wrapped in an orange blanket. John rubs his face and then searches on his phone where the nearest veterinary office. He picks up the shivering dog with “You better survive this.”

* * *

John will never understand why he is here in a overly cheerful vets office waiting on a dog that wasn’t his instead of being with the man he loved. Logically he knew that Sherlock would be alright, what he honestly didn’t know why he had reacted that way as the were walking past the pond on the way to question a suspect. Sherlock had been in the middle of sentence about why old books smell the way the do when he had bolted towards the pond. Without a word he had flung off his coat and made his way towards the dog. They had never discussed getting a pet, avoided them in the park, ignored John when he would rub dogs ears, sneered at Molly’s stories about her cat. 

“Watson?” pulls John’s attention to the present.

“Yes sorry.” he mumbles stepping forward. 

John listens as the kind veterinarian explains that the mystery dog was resting, It wasn’t microchipped and they hadn’t any record of missing Irish Setters recently. It was a bit malnourished, a bit elderly, but would be fine with some rest and care. It would be sent to the local humane society as soon as they felt that it was ready. 

“That, um the thing is.” John couldn’t figure how to ask without appearing completely mad, “I have a suspicion that my partner might want to take him. He pulled him out of that frozen pond.”

“Well since we don’t know if he belongs to someone we still have to send him. If noone claims him in a couple of weeks there will be home visits, paperwork and stuff. I can tell them you are interested, put you first in line?” 

“Will you? Can you also call me and let me know where you will be sending him.”

“Yes. Mr. Watson.”

As john leaves the office he thinks, desperate times called for desperate measures. Even though John and Sherlock knew each other better than anyone else, there were things hidden from each other, stories untold, pains never shared, reasons neither man were terribly fond of their respective siblings. Mycroft was useful for knowing things like Sherlock’s blood type or if he was allergic to certain adhesives, and various other things that had been deleted to increase storage space. John was weighing the consequences of call he was about to make when as if knowing his mind his phone pings.

_Signing myself out John. See you at home SH_

John gathered his strength and dialed Mycroft’s number.

“What has he done now John?” was his greeting.

“Did the two of you have a dog growing up? I don’t see the two of you as pet people but your brother nearly killed himself saving one from a frozen pond.” John asks preparing for the dismissive response.

“Do you recall that I told you once that Sherlock wanted to be a pirate?” 

“Things like that kind of stick.”

“Well imagine young Sherlock having no friends, but one. We had an Irish Setter that Sherlock named of all things, Redbeard.”

“Oh god.” John says closing his eyes. The anger towards Sherlock draining away.

“The dog lived to almost eleven years old. Sherlock was away at school and our parents put him down without telling him prior. Sherlock has neither forgiven them or me, since I was made aware. It was never my dog, only Sherlock’s.” 

“Thank you Mycroft.”

“Don’t do it John.”

Click was John’s response. Decision made. Across town Mycroft sighs and calls his husband.

“Gregory. John and Sherlock are getting a dog. Prepare yourself for an additional member of your force.” Mycroft grins over the shouting response.

* * *

After guiltily asking for and getting permission from Mrs. Hudson to allow a dog in the flat, “You’ve done enough damage, what’s a little dog hair.” was her response, John made his way upstairs.

“Sherlock?” John called out expecting to find him in his thinking pose on the couch. 

“In here John!” the man in question called from their bathroom. 

“How are you feeling?” John asks sitting on the toilet seat and admiring the sight of alabaster skin draped in their ridiculously large clawfoot tub.

“I’m fine, join me and you’ll see just how fine.” Sherlock grins and gestures downward.

“Not right now. Right now you and I are going to get the flat ready for a houseguest.”

“Sister finally lose her home.”

“No someone with longer hair, a bit malnourished, and settled into old age.” 

“You know it annoys me when you call Mycroft or try to be clever.” Sherlock’s voice is hard edged as he stares down at his hands. 

“I’m not the one who risked my life for a dog. You have to stop doing that, risking your life.”

“I don’t think Mrs. Hudson would appreciate the dog John.” Sherlock mutters.

“Already asked her. I’ve decided Sherlock, what do you want to name him?” John asks. Sherlock proceeds to stare at him silently. “Waters getting cold by now. Can’t possibly be comfortable after today.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Get out before you get all pruny. We’ll have to wait to see if anyone claims him, but he looked like a stray. We also have to have a home visit. I don’t think they will take kindly to open chemicals or whatever is growing in the produce bin.”

“Roberts.”

“hmm?”

“Roberts, our possible dog’s name”

“Wait. As in Dread Pirate? You’ve seen Princess Bride?” John laughs. 

“Read it when I was seven.” Sherlock says finally standing up from the tub and wrapping himself in a towel.

“I meant what I said Sherlock. Stop trying to die on me.”

“Well now I can’t leave you to take care of our dog. Can’t let Roberts down now can I?”

“I love you, you ridiculous bastard.” John says tugging off the towel and pulling Sherlock close into a kiss. 

“Thank you John. The feeling is quite mutual.” Sherlock says tugging John into their room.

**Author's Note:**

> In my head 221b has a big claw-footed tub, not that teal monstrosity Arwel Jones shared. Sorry for any inaccuracies about how pet adoption works in London.


End file.
